You are not your Very Secret Diary of Tyler Durden
by Is0lde
Summary: You're a voice in my head!" "You're a voice in mine." If Tyler Durden had a diary, what would it say? Well, most certainly nothing like this! Perverse, dirty, and pretty funny. (also published by co-writer maisirmoltesen)


PLEASE OBSERVE BEFORE READING THIS THAT THIS PIECE OF SHIT HAS BEEN PUBLISHED BOTH ON **MAISIRMOLTESEN'S** AND **IS0LDE'S** ACCOUNTS. SO BEFORE REPORTING US FOR THEFT AND YADAYADAYADA, PLEASE REMEMBER THAT WE'VE WRITTEN THIS TOGETHER AND THAT WE'RE PERFECTLY COMFORTABLE WITH IT.

Thanks for showed interest. Now, on with the fanfic! Yay evil fanfic!

**Title**: "You are not your Very Secret Diary of Tyler Durden"  
**Rating**: R  
**Summary**: What the fuck do you think? It's a "Very Secret Diary of..."! Ergo, everyone's gay and so on... you know the drill.  
**Disclaimer**: The very mocked characters belong to Chuck "The Man" Palahniuk.  
HAH! TAKE THAT, PALAHNIUK! TAKE THAT, BRAD PITT! This is who you are, no need to deny it.  
**Author's note**:  
**Maisirmoltesen**: Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr... there's something magical about the words "The Very Secret Diary of..." that automatically turns the main character into a stupid, I-haven't-got-a-life-and-I-need-to-get-laid, blabbering, drooling sex-maniac.  
**Is0lde**: It's, like, one of the basic laws of nature.  
**Maisirmoltesen**: What we're trying to say is, don't blame us for this shit, it really wasn't our fault.  
**Is0lde**: Yeah, that's right! Go pick on someone your own size! Err, that came out wrong...  
**Both, simultaneously**: Well, here goes. Presented by brought to you by Maisirmoltesen and Is0lde, we give you, for the first time ever in fanfic history... drum roll

THE VERY SECRET DIARY OF TYLER DURDEN!

Ps. For more information about the whole "Ricky's a slut"-thing, go read Maisirmoltesen's "I am Jack's abduction"-thing. We assure you, it's more serious than this. You can interpret that as either a promise or a threat.

YAY SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION!

Self-improvement is masturbation. (And that's what fanfiction is all about...)  
Self-promotion is the answer.

Right? Ds.

Ps2. See what happens when you make a serious attempt at doing your biology homework? Jeez, man, it's fucking  
hazardous.

**

* * *

One beautiful, sunny day.**

Here I am, minding my own business.  
Stupid people surrounding me.  
Fucking consumers, they just don't get it.  
Enslaved like guinea pigs the government perform experiments on.  
Big Brother watching you…

…

Wait a second… hmm.  
Who's that? Hottie!  
There, on the opposite escalator. Whoa!

Aha! An evil plan is taking form!  
Hah!  
Eureka, man! I'll rebook my ticket and follow him to… wherever he's going.  
Yeah. Yeah! I will!  
And then I'll… insult him! (Bet he likes that… he he he.)  
Tasty little morsel.

Fuck, I lost him.  
Okay. No need to panic.  
I'll just have to wait here until he comes here again.  
Bet he's got a white-collar job and has to travel a lot.  
He'll definitely come here some time soon.

In the meantime, let's change! I'll dazzle him with good looks…

**Three days later**

Whoa, time machine, man!  
Okay, remind me never to sleep on that bench again. My back hurts!

Ah! There goes my prey on its hind legs. Roar. The hunt is on!

The air mattress got me seated next to him. Yay!  
He's so cute when he's sleeping.  
AND we've got the exact same briefcase.  
It's a sign I tell you, a sign!  
Now I've got to think of something really really clever to tell him,  
and then on with the banter when he tries to imitate me.  
Hah!

Cute boy even cuter when he's nervous.  
God, I've got to restrain myself.  
Ah. Bathroom. Cue; witty remark.  
I'm so winning this.

He looked at me as I was walking off.  
Calm down, Tyler, calm down!  
Think of boring things.  
Baseball. Think of baseball.  
Or maybe the busty air mattress.  
Nice ass.  
Uh-oh, back to where I started. Damn it!

**Later**

My evil plan succeeded!  
Found his luggage and smuggled a vibrating dildo down in it.  
NO, it wasn't mine. It most certainly was not!  
Now when I've found our where cute boy lives,  
I just need to get there to blow up the apartment.  
Good thing I had extra chemicals packed.  
Some way this will work, I know it, and then he'll be all mine.  
Bet he hasn't got any friends and then he'll call me for sure.  
Way to go me! Yay evil plan!

Ooh. Nice car, Red, shiny new sports-car. Me like.  
NO, I'm not overcompensating. I don't need to.  
Hah!

**Later that night**

Smashed the car. Oops. Stupid pedestrians.  
Got home, took a shower.  
Shaved. Not in the face, though, a little stubble? Always sexy.

Cute boy called.  
YAY!  
Didn't dare pick up the phone,  
and then I had to come up with some stupid explanation as to why I didn't.  
Star-69ed(1) him.  
Agreed to meet him at Lou's Tavern.  
Yay! I've got a date!  
Go me!

**Later… again…**

Booooooring. Cute boy can't stop talking about his furniture.  
Stupid Ikea-fetishist!  
Pretty, though.  
Nice ass.  
I'm so going to "enlighten" him!  
But first: violence! My second favourite hobby… he he he.  
…

Motherfucker! He hit me in the ear! Why the ear, man?

…

Blood is a strong aphrodisiac, though.  
Okay, baseball, baseball, baseball…  
Tyler, I keep telling you, he simply isn't ready for, well, that yet.  
But now when I lure him to ask if he can move in with me,  
I'll have all the time in the world to… prepare him.  
He he he.

Cute boy says he wants to move in.  
Jeez, he's a wreck. All upset about his material possessions.  
Wait until I tell him I haven't got a TV.

Shit, have to give him his own room.  
Darn.  
Oh well, as I said…  
it's just a matter of time before he succumbs to my scruffy, rugged charm.

**The morning after that. No, not _THAT_! Are you obsessed, or what? Jeez. At least I'm not some… stupid pervert. Er.**

Apparently, cute boy has brains as well as good looks.  
He likes to read.  
Found some old magazines and got all worked up.  
They seem to have made quite an impression on him,  
since now, whenever he gets upset or annoyed,  
he starts muttering "I am Jack's"… whatever to himself.  
Kinda noticed he looks darn good when he's pissed of.  
I am Jack's growing horniness.

He he he.

I'm sooo going to piss him off more often. Hmmm.  
What to do…  
Betcha cute boy has a weak spot… somewhere. He he he.

**Days later**

Oouch, my jaw hurts. Cute boy has iron fists! Good to know… he he he.

So the phone is off the hook,  
and some bitch is dying on the other end.  
She must be a new age sort of person,  
'cause I'm sure I heard her talking about evacuating her soul and stuff like that.  
Heavy.  
Man, whatever.  
Then I start thinking,  
maaaybe she's that chick Marla Singer cute boy's been raving about?  
Huh.  
Imagine, it'd really piss him off if we hooked up.  
Ha ha, what a ridiculous notion.  
…  
HEY! I feel an evil plan taking form!  
He… he… he…  
Can't afford to piss him off too much though,  
that's no way to get into his pants.  
Ooh, have to focus now.  
I need to get laid; I'm getting waaay too impatient.

Where was I?  
Oh, yeah. Damsel In Distress. To the rescue!

**Later… he he he.**

It WAS Marla Singer.  
Yeah, I can be intelligent sometimes too; I don't like to brag.  
Who am I kidding? I_ love_ to brag! YAY ME!  
Maybe I overdid it. Cute boy veeery not happy.  
Aaw, he's cute when he pouts, though.  
AND I got laid.  
Yaaaaaaaaaay! He's so _obviously_ too pissed off to not be jealous of Marla.

Or…  
… maybe I'm giving myself too much credit here.  
Maybe it's ME he's jealous of.  
Oh, this is just too complicated, I'm gonna have to ask.

…

Yaaaaaaaay, I tell thee! YAAAAAAAAAAAAY!  
Cute boy obviously waaaaaaay into me!  
Those looks he keeps giving me tell me he's after something else than my friendship,  
if you know what I mean.  
He he he.  
Betcha he'd die to pull down my pants and suck my…  
shit, someone is coming! Got to run… and hide… he he he.

**Some day or other**

I think cute boy has a less-than-straight relationship with someone at his office.  
Stupid dunce with white teeth.  
Aargh!  
Is this to be the end of my evil plan already?  
No!  
I shall not give up!  
_Never give up, never surrender!_  
Uh-oh. Have to stop watching science-fiction movies on late night TV.  
Wait, I haven't got a TV.  
Then where did that come from?  
Scaaary.

Oh my God, I totally forgot…  
Me and cute boy started this thing,  
where people beat each other up for no apparent reason.  
Cute boy seems to think there's some big purpose to it.  
It's _such_ a cover-up.  
These guys are _so_ sexually frustrated, it's obvious.  
Duh!  
Yay Fight Club! It gives me a reason to roll around half-naked in the dirt with cute boy…  
… and the other guys, of course. Lol.  
I'm such a genius, some times I don't know what to do.

Some times I give them assignments.  
Today, they were assigned to go pick up a total stranger.  
Or was it pick _on_…?  
What do I care, anyway.

**Eons later, in a galaxy far far away… err.**

Have kept on fucking that stupid bitch.  
Missus Human Buttwipe.  
Would have preferred _Mister_ Buttwipe, but, alas, you take what you can get.  
She's available and willing, that's all I need… for now.  
He he he.

**A wee bit later**

Took cute boy down to the kitchen.  
Was going to execute Le Grande Seduction.  
Knelt down and kissed his hand.  
He looked at me like I was some kind of freak.  
Got the feeling he's not quite ready yet,  
so I had to do something.  
Poured lye onto the hand.  
Ouch. That's gotta hurt.

Wait, this seems familiar…  
Oh, right. Short term memory loss.  
I did the same thing to myself once.  
I'm _so_ never drinking home-made liquor again!  
Man, the pain, the hangover,  
the three semi-handsome guys lying in my bed the next morning,  
wondering where the hell they were,  
who the hell I was,  
and what the hell we'd been doing the entire night before,  
it just wasn't worth it.  
Well, maybe the last bit.

**Next day… I think. He he he.**

Have decided to let the most faithful and dedicated (and handsome…)  
Fight club guys move in with me. Us.  
Marla's soooo not cutting it anymore,  
and if I'm not getting it with cute boy,  
I might as well start setting the buffet.  
Although, I really should let in some of the less attractive guys as well,  
so as not to arouse (he he he) suspicion.  
I've had my eye on a specific blond specimen.  
He's not much of a fighter,  
but I figure, whatever.  
As long as he can swallow, right?

**Do you even care? Eejits.**

The guys have started some sort of Project-thingy or whatnot.  
I don't really understand the concept,  
but I guess it's fine,  
they can do what they like on their spare time.  
From what I've gathered,  
they're running around cutting people's balls off.  
Hell, I could go for that,  
as long as they don't take mine,  
'cause I'll be needing them.  
He he he.

Uh-oh, maybe I'd better tell cute boy to stay off the streets for a while.  
Dangerous folks, these Project-oholics.  
Also, it means more time alone with him,  
when the other nimrods are out on one of those "make-the-world-a-better-place" sorts of deals.  
Hey, if I'm their leader, I can _order_ them to!  
Now I just have to make it sound like it was my idea from the beginning.  
Ah, well, I'll just stun them with my charisma.  
Or some other part of me.  
He he he.

**A couple of weeks later**

So, some guys have moved in with us now,  
and the Paper Street Soap Company is getting a bit more crowded than before.  
The blond guy – I call him Mister Angel, the sweet thing – now officially "sleeps" in my bed.  
But everyone's promised not to tell cute boy.  
As long as he doesn't find out, things are peachy.

**Half a day later**

D'oh.  
Big Bob, you silly fat bastard.  
Ruddy traitor!

Cute boy found out and got so mad he pounded my sweet Mister Angel into a bloody pulp.

Damn it! If he's so in love with me, why can't he just say so?  
Just ask man, jeez. It's not like I would get offended or anything. He he he.

So I figured we could drive off in some car,  
have a nice talk (and maybe a nice something else, as well… heh.),  
but these stupid Project Whatever-guys insisted on tagging along.  
Peeping Toms, the lot of them.  
So, yeah, I got a little freaked out and kind of, well,  
(this is soooo embarrassing,  
I always screw up whenever I'm around him),  
drove straight (err…)  
into another car. Sort of.

Long story short,  
cute boy was _not_ very happy,  
and out cold for a while.  
But the good news is, at least everyone survived!  
And that's what matters, right?  
…  
He's cute when he's unconscious.  
Maaaaaybe I could…?  
No. He has to be at least half in on it, otherwise what's the fun?

**Days and days later. Man, cute boy sleeps like a log!**

Aw, man. This is getting sooo frustrating.

I think I need a break from this "new Christ" thing.  
Being people's saviour is more tiresome than you'd think.  
At least Jesus had his faithful fuckbuddies…  
… err, I mean apostles.  
With Mister Angel all messed up,  
the supply isn't exactly what I'd call "vast".  
And with Ricky being such a slut,  
I'm fresh out of good-looking prey.  
He he he.  
Hey, man! This really isn't funny! Feel sorry for me!

I figure, this isn't a small country,  
there has to be other sexually frustrated guys spread over the counties.  
Right?  
And at least a percentage of them have to be willing,  
right?  
RIGHT?  
With my looks? Hey, I shouldn't even be worried.  
He he he.

Went into cute boy's room and said some pretentious shit  
so he would think I had a legitimate reason to bugger off.  
I think it worked like a charm.  
Plus, I got to touch him – in a very manly way, granted, but still.  
Mm, smooth soft hair.  
Wonder what conditioner he uses.

**Weeks later**

Met cute boy in a hotel room.  
King-size bed, he he he.  
Thought I was gonna get some action for sure.  
I mean, he went after me for a reason, right?  
Then, as it turns out, he's just a figment of my imagination.  
D'oh!  
I've been chasing _myself_ all this time!  
No wonder I haven't been able to… he he he.  
And that explains why I found him so attractive.  
I mean, ever heard of Narcissus?  
Aw, man, I knew he was too good to be true.  
FEEL SORRY FOR ME!

Someone's going to pay for this. Someone set me up.  
Ah! Credit card companies! What a way to act out on my anger.  
Yay explosives! Yay evil plan!  
I'm so good.  
Remind me to apply for the Nobel Price some time.  
I'm sure I'd have a shot at it, ha ha.  
I look good in a tuxedo. Hell, I look good in everything.  
And for the price money, maybe I can restore Mister Angel?  
PROBLEM SOLVED!  
Take that, stupid mirage!  
I get money AND a loyal bitch.  
YAY ME!

…

Maybe I shouldn't have pissed him off.  
Cute boy's got a gun!  
Uh-oh. Shouldn't have told him how to use a gun and drill those little holes.  
Damn it.

Big hole at the back of my neck not very attractive.  
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

**THE END.

* * *

**

(1) He he he, if you catch my drift.


End file.
